Chapter 25
“What happened to you?” a worried-faced Sam says when she finds me in the kitchen the next morning, leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in my hands.
“Nothing,” I say.
She stares at me, hands on hips. “Your puffy face and red eyes would say otherwise. What’s going on?”
Oh, just the thing I’ve been trying to avoid, and it was worse than I ever imagined.
Translation: My life sucks.
I blink rapidly, trying to push back tears. The only thing keeping me from a full breakdown is that I won’t have to see him for the next couple of days. Hopefully, I can pull myself together by the time I do. The outlook is bleak, though.
She takes a step toward me. “Come on, Claire. Tell Dr. Sam what’s happening.”
“Dr. Sam?”
“Just trying it out.” She yanks on the sleeve of my pajamas. “Now spill it.”
“Luke and I kissed,” I say, blinking again.
Sam’s eyes widen, a smile spreading across her face. “You kissed? I knew you would! This is . . . Wait.” Her face falls. “You’re crying. What happened?”
I give her a shrug, a tear rolling down my cheek. I tear off a piece of paper towel from a roll on the counter and dab at it. So much for trying not to look like I’ve been sobbing off and on for the past fourteen hours.
Her brows knit. “The curse?”
“Yep,” I say. “Kiss number fifty ended the same way they always do.”
It’s actually going to be easy to quit after this one. I may never kiss another man again for as long as I live.
“Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry,” she says, her eyes crestfallen. “Tell me what happened.”
I give her a quick version because I don’t have enough time to really get into the details right now. But it’s enough, and it has the right effect.
“So he just forgot what he was doing when he kissed you?” she asks when I’ve finished.
I only nod, because if I tried to speak, it would come out all squeaky. Having to relive it—even the shortened version—sucked.
She huffs out a breath. “Are you sure?”
I pull my chin in, giving her a teary glare. “I was there, Sam. I’m sure. It was just like it always is. We kiss, he suddenly forgets, then he leaves.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly leave this time, though. He got called away by that Victoria woman.”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe it was a gift from the curse gods so I didn’t actually have to watch him get his things and walk out.”
I actually hadn’t thought of that until right now. That would have been awful.
“What if you just got your wires crossed? What if it wasn’t the curse?”
“I didn’t.” I shake my head. “And besides, he never called me. Or texted. I haven’t heard from him since.”
I stared at my phone for a while last night, trying to will him to contact me. Like if he did, it would change everything. But he didn’t.
Then I debated switching his name back to “Jerkwad,” but that thought made me even sadder. He’s not a jerkwad. He’s the one who saw me—all the messy, inconvenient parts of me—and made me feel like I was interesting instead of exhausting.
Or at least I thought he was. Maybe he is a jerkwad after all.
“Wow,” Sam says. “I wish I could give you some words of advice. But alas, I’m not a real therapist. I know that may come as a shock to you.”
This makes me smile a little. I’m grateful for Sam.
“I’m running out of time anyway. I have to get ready for work.”
“You’re going to work?” she asks, scrunching her face.
“Of course,” I say.
“Shouldn’t you take the day off and wallow in your bed?” she says. “You know, act like the rest of us humans do after heartbreak?”
I shrug. “Hollywood never sleeps.”
She watches me for a beat. “Is that it? Or would you rather be fixing other people’s messes than your own?”
I stare at her, my eyes stinging again but for a different reason. “You said you weren’t a therapist.”
She nods. “I had those two semesters, though. And besides, you don’t need to be a therapist to recognize that.”
I don’t say anything. I just take my coffee and go get ready for work.
An hour and a half later, I’m sitting at my desk, Tessa giving me a rundown of all the overnight numbers since some of the “leaked” footage went out last night and some of the cast posts have started going up.
Signs are pointing in the right direction, which is what I need to happen.
But more than that, I need it to be successful. At least enough that my time with Luke will be over and I can return to working for just Bailey. I can’t imagine going back to how things were—problem solving side by side with him, seeing him every day—while wanting something I can’t have.
Sam’s words from this morning keep running through my head. She’s not wrong—I would rather fix other people’s messes than my own. Because those are actually fixable. And mine is not.
Around midmorning, my phone rings, and like all the other times it’s happened today, my heart does a little hopeful jump.
But it’s not Luke. It’s Simone’s name flashing on my screen.
It’s the first time she’s called since she had me do the handover.
“Simone,” I say, surprised. “How are you? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she says.
“Oh, good,” I tell her. “I’ve been wondering how you’re doing.”
“I feel like a whale,” she says. “I’ve got four weeks left, and this baby just keeps growing.”
I open my mouth and then close it. I don’t actually know enough about pregnancy to know if that’s reassuring or alarming. “Is that . . . okay?”
She laughs. “Yes, Claire. Babies are supposed to grow.”
“Right,” I say, feeling silly for saying that. “I don’t know if I said this before, Simone, but I’m . . . I’m really happy for you.”
“Thank you. I’m really happy too. My ankles are the size of tree trunks, though. I’m not all that happy about that.”
“So how long will you be taking for maternity leave? When are you coming back?” I ask.
“That’s why I’m calling.”
This is what I need to hear right now. Knowing when Simone will be back will get me through this next part, whatever that is. And then I can return to my D-list clients. Go back to my easier life. Back to a life without Luke Wilder in it. Or at least one where I can avoid him more easily.
“I don’t think I am,” she says.
Wait. What? She doesn’t think she’s coming back? But that makes zero sense. This is a woman who once attended a black-tie charity gala with a broken wrist, managed her client during the entire event one handed, and went to urgent care after it was over.
Surely she could manage clients with a baby strapped to her back. Or however you carry a baby.
“I don’t understand,” I reply.
“Let’s just say my priorities have changed,” she says. “I’ve let the partners know and recommended you to take my place.”
“You . . . what?” I’m so confused. Simone isn’t coming back.
Has she lost her mind? It must be pregnancy brain. It’s a thing. I saw it on an episode of How I Met Your Mother. That must be what’s happening.
“Simone, are you serious?”
“I’ve been watching how you’ve handled the Bailey Lockhart situation,” she says. “And you’ve done a great job, Claire.”
I actually meant about her not coming back. My brain hadn’t even gotten to the part where she thinks I could do her job.
“You’ve been watching?” I ask, even more confused. “But weren’t you supposed to be on a media blackout?”
She chuckles. “You didn’t really think I was doing that, did you?”
“It felt out of character, to be honest. But Marcus—”
“Marcus sleeps like the dead. Nights are long when you’re uncomfortable and can’t sleep. He had no idea. But I’ve seen everything that was thrown your way, and that leak last night to combat the staged-breakup narrative? I would have done the same thing.”
I might cry for an entirely different reason now. One that has nothing to do with Luke. Coming from Simone, that’s the closest thing to a standing ovation I’ll ever get.
“Thank you, but I don’t know if I’m prepared to take over for you, Simone. Your shoes might be too big to fill,” I say, being honest.
I’m all over the place with my emotions right now. Grateful but overwhelmed. Happy, but also slightly terrified. And also, half convinced I’m still asleep and this is just a dream.
“You can do this, Claire,” she says. “I wouldn’t have recommended you if I thought otherwise.”
The next day after I settle in at work, feeling relieved that #EloraandKaelric is trending once again—the leaks and the cast posts doing their job—Rick Calloway knocks on my office door.
“I’m sure you’ve heard Simone isn’t coming back,” he says as soon as he enters, getting right to the point.
I nod. “Yes. She called me.”
“We’d like to offer you her position,” he says.
Oh, wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I figured he was here to tell me they will consider me and that there would be some kind of interview process with other candidates to consider.
Heck, last night when I lay awake in bed thinking about how this would all go down, I even imagined Luke putting his hat in the ring and him getting the job, and me having to actually find out how to work in mattress testing after all.
But now Rick’s in my office, offering me the position, just like that. Me. Claire Archer. Soon-to-be VP of crisis management.
Answer the man, Claire.
“I’d be honored,” I tell him honestly.
He leaves without a goodbye, and I stare at the door as it clicks shut. This is . . . big. It’s huge, actually.
And I have no one to share it with. My family and Sam will be excited for me, of course, but they won’t truly understand the gravity. Gigi would probably ask me how much the pay raise is.
Which is probably something I should have discussed before saying yes.
I could get Tessa in here and tell her. She’d get it. But the person who’d really understand, the person I actually want to tell right now, is the one person I can’t.
All because I couldn’t keep my lips to myself.
Later that night, while Sam is at work and I’m lying on the couch, my phone beeps.
My stomach drops when I see who it’s from.
Luke.
I almost don’t want to click on the text to see what it says. But I’m too curious.
Luke: Meeting with the studio 9 AM tomorrow.
It’s what I expected. Was I hoping for something else? Of course. But that was foolish. I know how the curse works.
We’re just colleagues now. Like the conference room never happened.
I didn’t think I could be more heartbroken than I already was.
But I was wrong.